Prelude and Fugue
by Lothiriel84
Summary: Somewhere downstairs, the tea was getting cold. - Set about a year before Red John's Footsteps. Written for The Mentalist Big Bang at mentalist bb. A huge thank you to my artists Miss Peg and kathiann, and to my beta Miss Peg. Cover image courtesy of kathiann.


He was mildly annoyed when his car broke down in the middle of nowhere. He got out of the vehicle slowly and headed towards a sparse scattering of houses along the road, trying to decide which was his best option.

In the end he went for the nearest house; it was nice and quiet and he had a feeling that its inhabitants wouldn't ask too many questions. He knocked three times, whistling an old tune as he waited for someone to open the door.

"Yes?" a young woman prompted from the inside; he drew in a surprised breath when she cracked the door open, and he could see that she was actually blind.

"I'm sorry to inconvenience you, ma'am – my car has left me stranded up the road, I'd need to use the phone."

"Sure," the woman replied with a smile. "Please, come in."

He followed her into the living room, a weird fascination dragging his eyes to her as she gracefully moved with the instinct inherent to blind people. A butterfly dancing in the half-light, that's what she looked like. She showed him the phone, then tactfully left the room; a smile touched his lips, and he paused a moment before picking up the receiver and making his call.

Just as he hung up she tiptoed into the room again. "Would you like some lemonade?"

"I wouldn't mind, thanks."

His previous annoyance about the car incident was immediately forgotten. He hadn't enjoyed the company of another human being for its own sake in months, and this woman seemed to have found a way to his heart; that was such a rare occurrence for him that it was an event in itself.

"I'm forgetting my manners," she said softly. "My name's Rosalind Harker."

He stepped forward, taking her small hand in his own. "Roy Tagliaferro. Nice to meet you."

When she disappeared into the kitchen he sat down in an armchair, his glance sweeping curiously about the room; it was nice and tidy, one that would have never told that its occupant was sightless. A couple of minutes later she was back with a glass of lemonade and a plate of homemade cookies, and she didn't fail to guess his exact position.

"Thank you," he murmured, taking a sip of the refreshing beverage. Rosalind sat down in front of him, the enigmatic smile that was peculiar to her only sought to intrigue him even further.

"Do you live here all alone?"

"I do," she nodded simply. "It's not as bad as one would expect. I like the quiet, it leaves me time to think."

"About what?"

"I don't know. Anything. I love to play the piano too; music is like the door to a different world, though many people just can't understand it."

"It's a sad thing, isn't it?" he agreed wholeheartedly. "Classical music is a thing of beauty, if only you open your mind to it. Modern music is nothing in comparison."

Rosalind's face broke into a warm smile. "I could play something for you. It's always better when I have an audience, you know? What's your favorite music?"

"Bach. I admire his rigor."

"I like Bach too," she said as she got to her feet, and worked her way to the piano.

He spent the rest of the afternoon watching her slender fingers as they danced over the keyboard, weaving melodies like invisible threads in the air. This chance meeting had turned out to be a most unexpected surprise, and a very pleasant one too; he was going to make the best of it, no matter what.

"It's getting late. I should go now," he told her at last, though he'd never been so reluctant to go back to his business.

Sadness clouded her delicate features. "What about a cup of tea before you leave?"

"That would be perfect, thank you."

This time he followed her into the kitchen, his glance caressing her ivory skin and auburn hair. There had been women in his life, though most of them were just a means to some ends; Rosalind, however, was different from any of them.

There was something unreal about her, some intangible quality that truly enchanted him; she was a woman he could see himself loving in every sense of the word. Love was something he'd been craving of late, he knew it was a weakness, but he was more than inclined to indulge in it at that moment in time.

As she poured the hot water into the china teacups he reached a tentative hand to her shoulder; he didn't miss the sharp intake of her breath, but she soon relaxed into his touch. His fingers threaded through her silky hair, then cupped her cheek as he leaned forward to meet her lips.

Rosalind's hand slid up his back, and he smiled into her embrace.

"Are you afraid?" he whispered in her ear.

"No."

"That's very brave of you."

"Because I'm blind?" she teased him, her fingers in his hair now.

He shook his head. "Because you don't know anything about me."

"I don't care. My instincts tell me all I need to know."

She tilted her head, silencing him with another kiss. Little by little he made his way back to the living room, pulling her along with him.

"My room's upstairs," she prompted as if she'd read his mind; and that was all he needed to know.

Rosalind shivered slightly as he divested her of her clothes, kissing every inch of skin he uncovered. Her fingertips danced all over his face, thus memorizing his features for a later date.

"You smell of pine," she said as he caressed her face. "I like it."

He lost himself in her, inhaling her subtle fragrance like a healing balm. Life might be dangerous and cruel, but in this secluded place he could forget it for a little while; he could pretend he was just like any other man, and enjoy the company of a beautiful woman.

Neither of them spoke for a long while, his plans for the day now completely forgotten.

Somewhere downstairs, the tea was getting cold.


End file.
